We'll Tell Our Stories On These Walls
by Tibbins
Summary: Set after 14x08 'Byzantium'. Castiel's deal hangs over the bunker, even though not all of the occupants know it yet. Destiel. Some dark themes.


**Hi guys! Another story so quickly?! I've been holding out on you this whole time. **

**This is set after 14x08 'Byzantium'**

**Enjoy ^_^**

The night of Jack's resurrection was spent in laughter and peace, even the death of Lily Sunder didn't sour the mood. They gave her a hunter's funeral as thanks for her sacrifice and then returned to the bunker, eyes still stinging from the smoke, clothes streaked with mud and splinters pricking their fingers. Then, they drank. Bottles clinked together, toasts were made to progressively more ridiculous things and candy bars were produced. It was almost like they were trying to wipe away the memory of the previous evening and replace it with this one. Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Hey, Jack," Dean said suddenly, sliding something across the table towards the boy, overshooting by quite a margin and sending the object clattering to the floor, Dean hissed through his teeth and brought his hand back towards him in the way he did when he knew he'd misjudged a throw but was too far away to do anything about it. Jack ducked down for a moment before emerging with a puzzled frown on his face, already flushed from the alcohol.

"A knife?" He asked, flipping the blade out with the small button on the side.

"Yeah," Dean pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door of the kitchen, bottle hanging between his fingers, "come on."

They all stood and tramped after him, Sam with an understanding smile, Jack and Castiel with confused looks, was this knife a particularly important gift? Dean took good care of all of his weapons but Castiel didn't think this one was a particular favourite; it was also small and wouldn't be much use for hunting. Perhaps it was more symbolic.

Dean led them to the library where he set his bottle down on the table and gestured to it, "Make your mark, kid."

He was pointing at the initials already scratched into the wood. The initials of two brothers who had branded this place as home.

Jack stopped a moment, clearly hit by the importance of what he had been asked to do. Castiel's smile was huge to the point of pain as Jack brought the knife to the table almost reverently and pressed the tip to the wood, then he raised his eyes to the brothers, looking nervous. "Are you sure?"

They shared a look, Sam nodded, "Yeah, Jack. We're sure."

"You just came back from the dead, dude," Dean added, adding a thin layer of bravado to his words that Castiel at least saw right through, "you're definitely one of us."

Jack bit his lip but lowered his gaze and began to carve out the J. It took quite a while, Jack seemed very intent on making the edges as neat as he could; woodchips occasionally pinged around the room and Jack's tongue poked out between his teeth as he concentrated, the weight of the task at hand seemed to have sobered him almost entirely and his hands were steady. When the first letter was done, Jack paused, blew away the dust and looked up again.

"What letter do I put next?"

"Whatever feels right," Sam answered quickly, "Jack, we're not asking you to abandon your mother's name, or take ours if you don't want to. Your last name doesn't change the fact that you're family."

Jack nodded and stared down at the J on the table for a long time.

"I like the name Winchester," he said eventually, "but it's not mine."

A little while later, he stepped back and they all admired his handiwork. J.K stared back at them, just below the brothers' initials. They all just stood in silence for almost a full minute, letting the impact sink in. Then, Jack's face broke into a huge grin and Sam laughed and clapped him on the back. Dean inclined his head, smiling too, Castiel felt pride welling within him at the scene. His three charges, two lonely, co-dependent heroes and their son. Honestly, he half-expected the Empty to show up right then and there and he swallowed down his joy, though it stuck in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to mind.

He nipped back to the kitchen to fetch the remaining drinks while the others settled around the main table; relocating to the library felt only natural, there was an energy in the atmosphere that hadn't been present in the kitchen, they had been winding down, calming and peaceful in the aftermath of all the manic activity of the past 48 hours. Now Dean dug out a deck of cards and they played Ring of Fire; after that Jack tapped out, having been the one to draw the final king and gulp down an impressive third of the foul mixture of whiskey, beer and something called a watermelon 'wine drink' that Sam had given him, thinking it a more pleasant-tasting alternative to the hard stuff the Winchesters were used to. Castiel suspected that the boy would wake up to his first ever hangover.

Smiling, he excused himself to follow and make sure Jack made it to his bed alright. He set down a glass of water on the bedside table and moved the trash can to easy reach should it be needed. Jack groaned as he fell face-first into the pillow. Castiel gently turned him onto his side and as he did so, sent a tiny bit of grace to heal him of the worst of his discomfort. He considered sobering Jack completely but didn't want to rob him of this human experience, however unpleasant it was going to be. Jack had been allowed to live, so Castiel was going to let him.

"Cas," Jack mumbled, "I wrote my name on the table."

"You did," Castiel agreed, taking off Jack's shoes and setting them by the bed before pulling up the blanket and tucking it around the boy's shoulders.

"I love my dads."

Castiel felt himself soften inside, "We love you too."

"'M sorry you can't be happy 'cause of me," Jack mumbled, "you should tell 'em, they'll help you, you know they would 'nd you can be happy."

"I know they would," Castiel said gently, patting the boy on the shoulder, "go to sleep, Jack, there's water there for you, make sure you drink it in the morning."

"'Kay," came the sleepy reply.

Castiel chuckled softly and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Then he just stood in the corridor for a few seconds, breathing deeply. Maybe Jack was right, maybe he _should_ tell Sam and Dean about the deal he'd struck. They would definitely try to help him get out of it, and giving their past record of dealing with such things it was at least possible that they would find a way. But what would be the point? He was going back to the Empty one day regardless of what the Winchesters did, why risk putting them in the crossfire just because it was going to happen sooner than expected? Besides, he might still have months left, years even.

It would take him a long time to forget. He was less sure what the creature had meant by him being happy, he _was_ happy. He enjoyed his life for the most part, he loved his family and he was loved in return. He had put aside his insecurities long ago and although it was almost never _easy_, he knew that what he did mattered, that he and his friends and his son were making a real difference to real people. It couldn't always be reunion celebrations and movie nights but overall he was more than satisfied with the decisions that had led him here.

Perhaps the Empty had simply meant that when he had forgotten and was no longer worried about it that it would come for him. Ancient creatures such as that often had a flair for the dramatic. He shook himself and headed back towards the library. The alcohol had only just begun to take effect, despite his sizeable dent in the stash of liquor.

Sam and Dean were talking quietly when he re-entered the library, all the vibrancy of adding Jack's name to the table had died down to a calmer atmosphere now and Dean was pottering about with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up the woodchips from before. Sam smiled at him as he took his seat and Dean passed him a beer when he sat down too. He took a sip and let the bubbles settle in his mouth, popping on his tongue before he swallowed.

"That was a very nice thing you did," he said, looking between the brothers, "I know it was probably difficult but it means so much to Jack."

"Difficult?" Sam repeated with a huff of laughter, "not really. Jack belongs here, we should've done this a while ago."

Dean tilted his beer forwards in agreement before taking a swig, though he looked almost annoyed at something.

They stayed up for a while longer, talking about nothing, keeping far away from anything heavy that would disrupt the tentative peace of the evening. After an hour or so Sam bowed out, flipping his glass and bidding them goodnight.

Dean shook his head in amusement as he watched his little brother stumble off in the direction of his room.

"He just can't handle his drink, can he?"

"Dean, he had the equivalent of two and a half bottles of whiskey."

"I know what I said," Dean replied, draining his beer and popping open another.

Castiel pressed his lips together, "Don't you think it's worrying that you can outdrink an angel?"

Dean's eyes darted to his and he shrugged, "Your tolerance is shot too."

"I drank almost double what you did and am less affected. I've just reached the point where I don't want to drink any more."

"You callin' me an alcoholic, Cas?"

"Would I be wrong?"

Dean snorted and took another pull of his beer, "Probably not."

Castiel sighed a long, drawn-out sigh, pushing the oxygen from his lungs to the point that his chest felt tight, "I know we don't talk about this-" he began,

"That's right, we don't."

Castiel clenched his jaw. It was infuriating, the way that Dean almost always chose the path of self-destruction when there was no need. It was almost as though he refused to accept that the people he cared about cared about him too, despite their best efforts to prove otherwise, Sam had been watching Dean's back for longer than either of them would probably admit, Mary had stopped at nothing to find him when Michael was in control, Jack clearly thought of all three of them as parental figures and, from what Sam had told him, had been desperate for Dean's approval from the very beginning. Even Rowena had dropped everything when she thought that Dean was sick and _him_? Well… Castiel had yet to come to a line he would not cross for the Righteous Man, as dangerous as that could be. Still he acted like they would all abandon him if he showed a modicum of weakness, especially on a good day, when things weren't _expected_ to go to shit.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Dean just rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Castiel traced the outline of the newly carved initials in the table, "Is it this? Do you regret asking Jack to add his name?"

He kept his voice calm, he wasn't going to judge Dean, no matter what he answered. It wouldn't change what he _knew_, that Dean saw Jack as a son.

Dean looked as though he was about to flat-out deny it until he saw the look on Cas' face, instead he hesitated and placed the beer down conspicuously next to the new addition in the wood.

"Maybe," he said, staring at the letters. His fingers trailed against the D.W of his own making before nudging against the S of Sam's, "it just… it feels weird, you know? We started this, just me and him, and it always felt right to me that it would end that way too."

"What changed?"

Dean huffed and pushed the empty beer bottle away before leaning back in his chair to appraise Castiel's question, his hands fiddling with something under the table, "Me," he said after a moment, "I realised somethin'; I thought that it was just me and Sammy against the world, but honestly, that hasn't been true for a very long time. We've never really been alone in this, have we, Cas?"

Castiel's gaze had been so focused on the etches in the table that it was only the change in tone and sudden movement in his peripheral vision that caused him to look up. Dean leaned forward now, holding the knife, hilt first, towards Castiel.

"I should've asked you first," he said quietly, his voice raw with an emotion that Castiel couldn't even begin to guess at.

"Dean-" It was all he could think to say, he stared at the knife as though it was his salvation and his damnation all at once.

"You're a part of this family too – you have been for a long time, and it's not right that Jack's name is on there when yours isn't."

Castiel was too overwhelmed to reply, his entire focus was on the knife in Dean's hand. Dean jiggled it when Castiel didn't move, "Come on, Cas, this is long overdue."

Castiel reached for the knife, his fingers brushed Dean's as he took it. He let it rest in his palm for a few moments, feeling the skin-warmed metal and the comfortable weight. The thought of adding his name to the table had crossed his mind several times over the years, accompanied by longing or bitterness depending on his mood, but he'd never thought it would actually _happen; _he understood the significance of the Winchester brothers leaving their mark on the world and having it just be theirs; he'd accepted it even, but now here Dean was, telling him to add his name, to make his own mark next to theirs, as part of their family.

If he did this, would it be a reason for the Empty to claim him?

He did it anyway.

The first press of the knife into wood felt like a reverse stab wound, like he was being healed from the action rather than damaged. He felt every moment of doubt he had ever had, every time he wondered if the Winchesters thought of him as just a weapon to point at their enemies melt away as each chip of wood was gouged from the letter it was to become. This was huge, this _meant_ something. The metal hilt dug into his palm where he clutched it as tightly as he could, so tightly it began to set off some of the more human pain receptors in his brain but he ignored them.

He was halfway through the C when he realised something.

"I don't have a last name," he said, pausing, similar to the way Jack had paused when realising his own surname dilemma.

He looked up from his work and for the briefest second, he thought he saw such fondness in the hunter's face, his lips tilted up at the edges, his posture relaxed and open and his eyes so tender that Castiel's habitual breath caught. Then he blinked. Dean's face was fond, true, but not exactly that image of wonder he seemed to have fabricated.

"Do you need one?"

Castiel tilted his head, frowning at the table, "the symmetry would be off."

Dean chuckled, "Okay, da Vinci," he teased, "well, you're an angel, wing it."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and prepared to berate his friend for that truly terrible pun but before he could, Dean let out a loud, half-drunken guffaw and tipped sideways off his chair, only to scramble back up, his face strawberry red. The sight was just too funny to lecture and Castiel couldn't contain his own laughter, still chuckling as he adjusted his grip on the knife and finished off the C. Once he was done, he hesitated again. Would it be presumptuous of him to add a W? He often felt like more of a Winchester than anything else but that didn't mean the brothers would see it that way; even if they did call him family, being a Winchester was something else entirely, something that Castiel wasn't sure he could claim. The only other surname he could think of was Novak, which of course had always been Jimmy's. And he definitely wasn't a Kline.

Dean noticed his deliberation, "Whatever feels right, bud," he said.

Castiel nodded and began to carve. He took longer than Jack, like him, Castiel tried to make the letters as even as possible, though they were perhaps a bit blockier than the others. When he was finished he placed the knife down and sat back. Dean, who had been watching his work curiously, tilted his head with a small smile, "Castiel was just too long, huh?"

"Cas," Cas said, "More human than angel but not quite either, it seems appropriate."

Dean's nodded, "Yeah," he said, "well, if that's what felt right..."

He trailed off as their eyes met. It was that awkward kind of eye contact that happened between them sometimes, just a hair too serious for the situation at hand, almost expectant, like they were both caught in a moment of waiting, though he didn't know what for. He doubted that Dean knew either, but the hunter was almost always the first to look away.

"It's the name you gave me," Cas said, wondering if the Empty was already on its way. Was he happy enough having his name next to the names of the people he loved most in this world, a permanent reminder that he had been here, that he had been cared for, that he had belonged? Was the worry of the Empty a caveat in its plan? He didn't want to be taken from his family, was that fear great enough to keep him from being truly happy? How far could he rely on it as a barrier?

"I guess..." Dean said, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck uncomfortably, "anyway, welcome to the table, buddy. Sorry it took so long."

"Thank you." Cas replied, still somewhat distracted. He had other worries, of course; Michael was still out there, amassing an army of monsters, stronger and faster and harder to kill; Lucifer's vessel, Nick, was in the wind and he hadn't exactly been stable the last time they'd spoken; Heaven was closed off and failing, countless innocent souls in peril largely because of him, and the Winchesters were always getting into trouble of some kind or another. Surely that was enough. He wasn't going to give himself permission to be happy until Michael was taken care of at the very least, whatever the Empty had meant by that. Cosmic entities were apparently no better at human emotions than angels or demons. In his experience, happiness either was or it wasn't, it wasn't a decision, but a balance. Like Anubis' abacus, when the good outweighed the bad then happiness became more stable than snatches of joy in between weeks of danger and worry.

The lack of clear parameters on the Empty's deal was disconcerting. Then again, that was probably its plan. It had said it wanted him to suffer, so leaving him in constant uncertainty would be the smart thing to do. It was cruel, yes, but he could live with cruel as long as he lived with it long enough to see Michael dead.

Dean reached forward, pulling Cas from his swirling thoughts, but instead of taking the knife back like Cas expected he traced his fingers over the freshly carved letters. Cas had positioned his name above the others, so his, Sam's and Dean's names almost formed a triangle pointing down to Jack's. Cas wondered briefly why Sam and Dean had signed the table at such strong angles to each other, but he stopped wondering when Dean looked up at him again, and he definitely wasn't imagining the tenderness there now.

"Cas," he said, "there's somethin' I've been meaning to say, for quite a while actually but I always chicken out. But seeing your name here… I guess for the first time it feels like you might stay. And I dunno, maybe that's making me brave or somethin' but I've wanted to tell you something important and-" he let out a breathy laugh that clashed with the open fear in his eyes.

It clicked then in Cas' mind, suddenly illuminating the true horror like the flip of a light switch and he felt his heart shatter at the realisation. _This_ was what the Empty had meant. Exactly this moment playing out. This… this was beyond cruel. He felt his face twist with the pain of it, luckily, Dean was staring at his lap.

"Listen to me, I'm freaking out like a twelve-year-old. I just wanna say… I mean, I guess I'm asking-"

"Dean." Cas interrupted, leaning forward in his chair and placing his hand on Dean's jittering knee. It radiated heat even through the rough denim of his jeans. Dean stilled at the touch and his eyes jerked upward to his. There was hope in those green eyes, buried under the fear and insecurity there was so much hope that things would work out the way he wanted them to.

"Nothing would make me happier," he said, slow and earnest, his voice was thick in his throat like syrup, "but I can't."

There was a beat while Dean heard the words, then another as he took in their meaning, it was like waiting for a precarious leaf to fall from a tree, for a moment you thought it would cling to life another day, but then, the almost imperceptible snap of the stem and there it was, spiralling towards the ground, untethered.

"Oh," he said, almost casually brushing Cas' hand from his knee, dipping his head to avoid Cas' gaze, "can I ask why?"

Cas floundered, he hadn't expected this, it was too much, too painful; he felt a violent rush of hatred for the Empty, for denying him this, "because..." he said, overwhelmed and close to tears, "because I'll leave you."

Dean flinched back as though Cas had hit him, his hand jerked away from the letters etched into the table and he stood quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process. The suddenly blank expression on his face hurt more than any anger.

"Okay. I'm going to bed."

"Dean, wait-"

"No," Dean held up a hand, his jaw working harder than it needed to for just one word, "you don't need to explain. I get it. It's fine."

"I'm sorry."

Cas hated himself for saying it, the words tasted as hollow as they sounded, but he was, he was so sorry and he knew he couldn't fix it. So the only thing to do was watch Dean retreat into himself, the way he did when he was hurting and felt unworthy of affection.

Cas felt a tug at what seemed to be his very grace, urging him to follow, to explain, to smooth the creases around Dean's mouth, to kiss away the furrow between his eyes, to hold him and reassure him that he was loved and worthy of love. But he couldn't, because that would make him happy.

So instead he watched as Dean snagged the last bottle of whiskey from the table and left, his head turned towards his shoulder for a half-second as though he might look back or say something, but the moment passed and he was gone, gone to beat himself up and stew over the rejection, hoping to find solace at the bottom of a bottle of Jim Beam.

Cas felt something bitter crawl across his tongue; he was disgusted with himself, he should've given a reason, _any_ reason, or feigned ignorance about the topic and excused himself first. Then he wouldn't have had to see the walls that Dean had slowly begun to take down crumble into dust, leaving him open like an exposed nerve.

Cas didn't want to watch Dean pull away from him, didn't want to be the cause of a rift in their relationship. It had taken Dean over ten years to get to this point, and Cas had destroyed it all in three words.

"You should've taken me when you had the chance," Cas muttered bitterly, shaking his head and standing, "you think I'll ever be happy now?"

At least he had that, he supposed. If he was going to live, it would be with the petty satisfaction of knowing that the Empty would be stuck waiting for a very long time to claim him. Awake, as it so hated to be.

Xxx

His steps echoed on the tiles as he walked through the corridors to nowhere in particular, an ominous beat to his own funeral dirge. Dean's face swam in his mind, that expression of crushed hope, confusion and hurt. He kept his pace measured, though he wanted to run, he wanted to find something to fight, he wanted to break things and scream until his fury was spent. He was tired of this, of being dragged away from the family he had chosen through a sense of duty or protection or love or death or deals. Why couldn't he just have this? Hadn't he given enough? Hadn't he lost enough? Twice he passed by Dean's door, slowing his step just slightly each time, but the door stayed shut and he heard nothing from inside.

The halls were silent, disconcertingly so. Not long ago, this place had been full of refugees from Apocalypse World but since the search for Michael had gone cold with Dean's return they had slowly filtered out, back to the homes they had begun to build in town. Sometimes Cas missed the company when he wandered the bunker at night; now however, he was glad of the quiet, nothing but the rhythmic clunk of pipes and the low thrum of magic that pervaded the very walls, protective magic honed over decades of Men of Letters' research and development, plus Rowena's own spin on the latest variant – they tried to strengthen the warding every two weeks as a rule, though it seemed to be proving less and less effective against their increasingly powerful foes. Very little would stop Michael from just flying in if he had a mind to, and nothing at all would stop the Empty.

Maybe he should just leave, though he was reluctant, a tugging at his grace that he couldn't explain or ignore, at least here he could help. Jack needed him, and Michael was still out there and they still had to track down Kaia and her spear. If he had to be alive and miserable then he might as well be useful. When all was said and done, he hoped that he and Dean would be able to part as friends.

But the look on his face when Cas had told him he would leave made him doubt it, which was why—at a little after five am—he knocked on Sam's door.

It was less than three seconds before he was greeted with a bleary, "Hello?"

"It's me, may I come in?"

Cas heard the crack of Sam's jaw as he yawned and the shuffle of bedclothes. The door opened and Sam stood there looking _very_ hungover. His hair was a mess of tangles, his sweatpants were bunched up around one calf and his eyes were red and squinting. But he was alert, as he had been trained to be.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, his knuckles gripping the door frame, "Is it Jack? Dean?"

"It's not an emergency." Cas assured him, "Dean went to bed a few hours ago."

Sam relaxed and dropped his hand from the door frame so he no longer looked like a sleepy lion readying for a fight, though he squinted at Cas now,

"Okay, so... what's wrong?"

Cas bit his lip, suddenly unsure.

"Are _you_ okay?" Sam asked, his hazel eyes softened with concern.

Cas shook his head. "I did something very cruel," he said, "and I can't fix it."

To his surprise, Sam sighed heavily and opened his door wider, "Come in, Cas, I think I know what this is about."

"You do?"

Cas stepped through the door and closed it behind him while Sam flipped on the light, wincing at the harsh brightness, and shoved the clothes he had been wearing the evening before from a chair in the corner onto the floor and snatching up a water bottle from his desk, taking a long drink from the contents as he waved for Cas to sit. He did, looking around, curious; he didn't come into Sam's room much. It was messy, with books strewn everywhere, post-it notes marking dozens of pages in each volume. Every furniture surface was covered with a thin film of dust, except for the smaller desk in the far corner which had an open sketchpad on it, doodles covered the double page and there was a large set of coloured pastels laid neatly next to it.

There were pictures on the walls which looked to have been recently cleaned too, some were creased polaroids, more recent ones had clearly been taken on his phone and printed out on nice card. Each of them was in a small frame nailed into the plaster. There was one of Dean and Charlie with intense concentration on their faces, gripping tightly to their handheld video game consoles, one of Kevin inhaling a bowl of soup, some wider shots too, of the garden out back of the bunker, of Jack and Dean on opposite ends of a field, a ball in mid-air, of the lake where Sam had taken them swimming a few times, there was even a group picture of all the Apocalypse World survivors, and one of him, Sam, Dean, Jack and Mary in the war room that he remembered Bobby taking, grumbling as he waved for them to squash together to fit in the frame. There were some photocopies of the older photos Dean had too, and several of just the brothers, one of the impala, a couple of Sam and Eileen, smiling upwards into the camera. It was clear to see what Sam loved, looking at those walls, and it was also a sad testament to what he had lost.

Sam cleared his throat gently and Cas tore his gaze from a photograph of him and Dean that he didn't actually remember being taken, though it must have been recent. They were in a diner, Dean in a booth, Cas on the wooden chair at the end of the table, Cas was half-turned away from the camera, looking to flag down the waitress probably. There was a menu laid on the table in front of Dean but he wasn't looking at the options, instead he was looking at Cas; his smile was small and wistful and there was a look in his eyes that broke Cas' heart all over again.

"And he says _I've_ got the puppy-dog eyes," Sam said, glancing at the picture and sitting on the edge of his rumpled bed closest to Cas' chair so he could look the angel in the eye, leaning forward with his fingertips pressed together like Cas had seen therapists do on TV. "So what's this cruel thing you did? Did you turn him down?"

Cas pressed his lips together and nodded.

"Why?" Sam asked. There was no judgement in his tone, almost as though he'd been expecting the answer, why else would Cas be in Sam's room at 5 am? "Look," he continued after a moment when Cas didn't answer, "I know Dean talks a big game about sex being great and all, but if that's not your thing I _know_ he'd understand. He cares about you for more than that and if you'd just talk to him-"

"That's not the problem." Cas said shortly,

Sam frowned at him, clearly, that was his pre-planned speech out the window, "Okay, so what is? You don't actually expect me to believe that you don't love him back, do you? Because..." he gestured towards the photo of the diner, "you look at him that way too."

"I can't stay here indefinitely," Cas said carefully, "someday, maybe soon, I'm going have to leave."

Sam blinked at him, "Leave? Why? Are you going back to Heaven?"

"Would that be so wrong? There are barely enough angels left to keep Heaven functioning. If it fails then every single soul will fall back to Earth as an untethered spirit. My power could help."

It wasn't a lie, not really. Heaven _could_ use him if he chose to go back, he just… wouldn't.

"And what about us?" Sam demanded, anger outweighing the hurt in his tone,

"I'll stay for as long as I can."

"And then? Are you gonna just leave us to take care of Michael alone? Abandon Jack? Leave Dean?"

Cas looked down, away from those accusing eyes, "I think I really hurt him, Sam."

"Yeah, I'll bet!" Sam exclaimed, sounding exasperated. "You just confirmed his worst goddamn fear." He stood and ran a hand through his tangled hair as he began to pace, "You didn't see him when you were dead, Cas. He was a mess, and I don't mean a normal, grieving a friend kind of mess, he was _suicidal._ So you tell him you're gonna leave again… if you sent him back there… I don't even wanna think about what he might do."

Cas' eyes widened with horror, and his heart pulsated unpleasantly in his chest, "He was?" He asked in a very small voice.

"_Yes_!" Sam said, just slightly too loudly for the hour, Cas winced, "What? Did you think he could just carry on as normal? That he wouldn't grieve? You're his best friend and he loves you and you've been there, fighting with us for_ years_. You've seen him lose people, he always takes it hard. But you and I are the only two that I don't think he can come back from."

Cas swallowed hard, mulling the words over for a moment, "That's… that's a heavy burden."

"Yeah, no shit," Sam scoffed, shaking his head.

"Dean- Dean will be alright."

"You sure about that?"

Cas' eyes slid back to the photograph of them in the diner, and then further to the next one, a picture taken before Dean had suffered Hell; it was just the brothers, laughing at something, standing next to the hood of the impala. They looked so much younger, not taking any notice of the camera. Dean's eyes looked wider, full of hope for the future instead of pain from the past. Cas briefly wondered who had taken the picture, and was irrationally jealous that they had stood witness to such a carefree moment in the lives of two men for whom true happiness was fleeting at best.

"Yes." He said, "He has you. I'm not saying it won't be difficult, but once we've dealt with Michael, once everything has settled and you're all safe, I'll be able to say goodbye. At the very least I can give him closure."

"Closure. Right. 'Cause exactly what he needs is one more person leaving him behind."

"And the alternative is better?" Cas argued, his temper flaring as that barb dug deep under his skin, "If I don't leave it could have consequences for _everyone _and I'm sorry but I won't risk your lives and I won't risk starting another goddamn apocalypse because of the Winchester's co-dependency issues! I didn't come here for a lecture, I came here because I needed a friend."

"And this is me being one." Sam retorted, whirling around to face him, his eyes blazing, "I'm telling you that going back to Heaven is a mistake. This is your _home_ and you could be happy here if you'd only let yourself."

_That's precisely the problem_, Cas thought, but instead of saying that, he adopted a cutting tone, "Could I? Are you? Would you say you're truly happy, Sam? You and your brother are a mess of neuroses and psychological damage that you never get the chance to heal from. Knowing everything you've lost, everything you've been through because of this life you were dragged into, would you really call what you are happy, or are you just resigned?"

"It's not always good," Sam said, his voice betraying true hurt for the first time, Cas knew his words had struck hard and he hated himself, "But I'm a better man than I was fifteen years ago; I was always running from something, fuelled by revenge and anger and I didn't care what it would cost me. Now, I'm fighting _for_ something, something worth keeping and I'm happy with who this life has made me into."

Cas had nothing to say to that. He wasn't about to contradict Sam, how could he when he agreed wholeheartedly? Luckily, he didn't have to say anything because Sam continued,

"Happiness isn't an always thing," he said, his eyes averted, his face shadowed by the yellow lamplight, "you find it in moments. When Dean cracks a stupid joke, when we get in the impala to start a new hunt, when Jack says something kind, jogging on a morning that's just slightly too cold, that's happiness. It's when those moments mean more to you than the lifetime of bad that surrounds them. When those moments are _worth_ getting through the rest to experience. And it's hardand it's scary because everything else tells you that it won't last, that you didn't earn it, but you don't _earn_ happiness, Cas, you just feel it, and that makes it all the more precious, don't you think?"

Cas felt his eyes sting, and when he spoke there was no longer any anger in it, "I-" he stammered hoarsely, "Yes. Excuse me, I have to go. Thank you, for the talk."

Sam nodded as Cas made his way to the door, but he stopped with his hand on the knob, and looked back, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"If I had to leave sooner than I thought, before I could help with Michael, would you and Dean be okay?"

"I dunno," Sam said frankly, "but I think, eventually, we'd both understand why you went back."

"You would?"

Sam huffed softly, "we're Team Free Will, and I don't like it, but it's your choice, right?"

Cas closed his eyes for a long moment, true, it was his choice, but his options were very limited, "Thank you. I love you, Sam, you've been more a brother to me than any angel."

"You don't have to go now," Sam said, sounding panicky now as he realised what Cas was saying, he took a few steps forward as though he wanted to try and stop him, "Heaven can wait a little longer, right? What happened to giving Dean closure?"

"I plan to," Cas said, turning the knob, "but if I don't go right now then I may lose my courage entirely. Goodbye, Sam."

"I love you too. Don't be a stranger, you can always visit, right?"

Cas smiled at the tall man who had never looked so young, twisting his hands together like a nervous child, he seemed to know the answer before Cas confirmed it. "No, Sam, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

And with that, he slipped from the room.

He took a moment in the chilly hallway to gather himself, (he seemed to be doing that a lot lately) and then turned and strode purposefully towards Dean's room. He hoped Dean would hear him out; this thing between them, whatever it was, had been building for years and Cas wanted it, he wanted it so badly that it would be worth going to the Empty just to take a few moments to see those green eyes light up, to trace the line of his jaw, to pull him into a kiss. It would be worth it. And he had waited long enough.

He reached Dean's room and knocked gently on the door. There was no answer. Unsurprising really, it wasn't even six o'clock yet and Dean had drunk a lot the previous evening. He knocked again, a little louder this time,

"Dean? It's me."

Nothing, not so much as an angry groan, a muttered curse, the rustle of bedsheets, not even breathing.

Cas opened the door, heart thumping in his throat as he remembered what Sam had said,

"_He was _suicidal_. So you tell him you're gonna leave again… if you sent him back there… I don't even wanna think about what he might do."_

"Dean?" His voice hitched with his panic as the door swung open. But the room was empty; the bed was made, though with less military neatness than usual, the bathroom was dark and silent, and nothing moved but the dust motes dancing in the air.

Cas stepped into the room, confused and worried, why wasn't Dean in here, where would he go? The bed had clearly been slept in so what on earth had caused Dean to get up before six am?

After one last glance around, Cas left, shutting the door behind him. Well, if he wasn't in his room perhaps he had gone to the kitchen to grab some food, Cas hadn't seen a glass of water so it would stand to reason that Dean would need some serious hydration.

But he wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the Dean-Cave, or any of the other rec rooms, or the gym (though Cas had known that would be a long shot). He was passing through the war room on his way to the library when Cas heard his name and Sam came barrelling into the room, still in his sweatpants. He held his phone out to Cas, on it was a text from Dean.

_I heard you two arguing, I think Naomi's got her claws in Cas' head again. Don't let him leave until I fix it. Back soon._

"Oh crap."

"Is he right?" Sam asked carefully, dropping his phone to his side, "Is Naomi controlling you again, like before? Making you think you have to leave?"

"No."

"Would you know if she were?"

Cas felt snakes writhing in his chest, Naomi would feel no qualms about killing a Winchester, especially if he attacked first; not that he was particularly worried about that, he knew Dean was more than capable of winning that fight, no, he was more worried about the consequences a dead Naomi would have for Heaven.

"No, but-"

"So maybe he's right. Let's just stick around here and see what happens."

"No," Cas said again, pulling out his own phone and pressing speed dial, "we have to go after him, we have to stop him from killing her." _You've reached Dean, leave your name and nightmare after the beep. _"Dammit! He must've turned his phone off."

"I thought you hated her," Sam said, frowning in confusion at Cas' distress.

"There are less than a dozen angels left, fewer still contributing their power to Heaven. It's unstable already and if it fails all those souls will be forfeit." He shoved the phone back in his trench coat and stared up at Sam with pleading eyes, "I will never forgive Naomi for what she did to me but she isn't controlling me now and she _is _the only one holding Heaven together."

Xxx

Less than fifteen minutes later and they were ready to hit the road. Cas had roused a very queasy Jack while Sam took the quickest shower possible. They met in the garage; the impala was gone, of course, but Sam grabbed the keys to a white 1951 Muntz Jet, they piled inside and Sam hit the gas.

"How is Dean even going to try to get into Heaven?" Sam asked a few minutes into their journey, "I thought the sandbox was closed."

"If Dean Winchester shows up at the gate and starts making threats, I'm pretty sure Naomi will respond." Cas said dryly.

Sam nodded but said nothing more. Cas had healed him of his hangover, he felt bad about not doing it earlier but his mind hadn't exactly been focused.

"So… Dean's gone to kill Naomi because he thinks she's brainwashing you?" Jack asked from the back seat. They had only been able to give him a rudimentary rundown of the situation in the time before bundling into the car and he was still processing. Cas had healed him too, he would let the boy experience a hangover when they _didn't_ have an emergency to deal with the morning after it was earned.

"Yes." Cas said through gritted teeth.

"Why would he think that?"

Cas glanced over at Sam whose jaw twitched slightly as he yanked the visor down to shade his eyes from the first streaks of sunlight of the day. It was almost seven and the winter nights were beginning to stretch out like a bland highway, "He overheard me and Sam talking. He knows I'm going to have to leave soon."

"Oh. Because of-"

"Yes." Cas cut him off.

"So why is he going after Naomi?"

"Because she's hurt Cas like that before," Sam said grimly, "and seeing as Cas has decided to go back to Heaven, Dean assumed she was behind it."

"But he's not-"

"Jack!" Cas said sharply and the boy fell silent.

"Wait… what's going on?" Sam asked, glancing at Jack in the rear-view, and then at Cas, suspicion casting over his face like a shadow. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"No." Cas lied through gritted teeth.

"Come on, Cas." Jack said gently, leaning forward between the two of them, "You said you didn't tell them because you didn't want them to worry... well, I think they're already pretty worried."

"Cas?" Sam asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

"It's not relevant."

"Really? 'Cause it seems pretty damn relevant from where I'm sitting! So Jack knows something we don't, something about you having to leave, which is non-negotiable apparently, even though it seems to mean you can't ever come back and even after Dean all but freaking proposed-"

"He _did_?" Jack squeaked, his hands going to his face so fast that they made an audible slapping sound.

"Not even remotely." Cas said, flushing, "Sam's exaggerating."

"Would that have made you happy?" the nephilim asked, his voice quiet and wobbly.

Sam scoffed as though it were obvious. Perhaps it was. Cas' silence seemed to speak volumes in any case because after a moment Jack sat back, looking mortified.

"Oh Cas, I'm so sorry."

"This is not your fault, Jack."

"Yes it is!" the boy exclaimed viciously, though his anger didn't seem directed at Cas, "if not for me you never would've made that deal!"

"What _deal_?" Sam demanded, twisting around in his seat for half a second to address Jack before turning back to the road, then he shot a glare at Cas, "What is he talking about?"

"Can't you drive any faster?" Cas snapped, "We're kind of on the clock."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Sam ground out through gritted teeth, and indeed, the white lines in the middle of the road had become a continuous blurry streak of orange flame as they reflected the blazing sky, the road like a broken shadow on either side. There had been a few other cars crawling around the town as they wound their way through Lebanon but once they hit the highway it was pretty much clear. It was Sunday, Cas realised suddenly, that was probably why. Fewer people had places to be on a Sunday morning, and even less would travel a distance. None of this was important, of course, he was just trying his best to ignore Sam's expectant glower as he seemed to be waiting for Cas to elaborate on his non-answer. After a few moments, Sam sighed,

"Look," he began, "If something is making you leave then we can fix it. You know who we are and what we've done, do you really not think that we'd pull out all the stops for you if you wanna stay? I mean, just look at Dean."

"I know you would." Cas said, his voice cracking, "honestly, if it were just my life on the line then I'd take you up on that."

"So your life is on the line now?" Sam said, scrubbing a hand over his chin as he stared at the tarmac ahead, "Jesus, Cas."

"Cas," Jack put in, and Cas could hear the end of the sentence before it was spoken, _I'm willing to take that risk, I wanna help too, _so he cut it off with a shake of the head, despite the pride swelling in his throat. Because it wasn't just Jack he was worried about either. If the Winchesters went up against the Empty, they would be firmly and permanently on its radar too and Cas was not prepared to risk losing his entire family to that place, that creature.

"The deal stands," he said firmly, "it's the only decision I can live with."

"Not if-" Jack started to say, his face flushed with anger but Cas silenced him with a look. He sat back and huffed, arms crossed tightly, and shifted over so he could stare out of the window, sending a little puff of foam into the air from a crack in the leather.

"Let's just find Dean," he mumbled, "maybe he'll be able to make you understand."

Cas was too frustrated to apologise, too sorry to argue further, he went back to staring out the windscreen, feeling Sam's ire bleeding out next to him, feeling Jack's disappointment beating into his back like radiation, watching the sun slowly emerge into the day and thinking how beautiful it was, and how bizarre that after several millennia of sunrises, sunsets, storms and seasons that he could still find those things beautiful. He'd seen more of the natural world than even the greatest of human explorers, having been able to fly to the remotest of locations with a flick of his wings, yet he never got bored of it. Despite the fact that natural wonders and how they worked were part of his pre-programming, he still liked to see them. It hit him then suddenly, painfully, that he would never be able to lose himself in a thunderstorm again, because there was a moment, just as the lightning struck the ground, with the rain soaking into his skin, electricity and power pulsing through the air and crackling in his lungs that felt like pure freedom. There was nothing else like it, and he could never feel that again.

He didn't regret his decision. He couldn't. He'd done it for Jack, for his son; any parent would have done the same, Sam and Dean would have done the same. No, he would make the same choice a thousand times over, but it was strange to be in mourning for his life while still living it. All the things he had taken simple pleasure in he now had to actively avoid just to stay alive, assuming of course, that he wanted to. He lowered his eyes to the closed glove compartment and stared at the little bumps in the plastic, he had been ready to die tonight. He had been ready to go to Dean's room, tell him how he felt, and allow the chips to fall where they may.

Jack shifted in the back seat and Cas felt shame crash into him. How selfish that had been. Was he really willing to abandon his family for one moment of happiness? Leave them to battle Michael on their own, go to the Empty not knowing if they were safe, rob Jack of a father?

What had the past ten years of his life been for if not to protect the Winchesters? He hadn't rebelled against Heaven to pursue his own happiness, he had done it because it was right. He sat up straighter in his seat, resolved. He couldn't lapse like that again. His personal feelings didn't matter, he owed it to his family and to himself to see this thing through, protect them for as long as he could and damn the consequences. _That_ was his mission.

Xxx

Dean paced around the sandbox like a caged tiger, muttering insults along with his prayers for Naomi to show her face. He'd been here for almost three hours, breathing in the smell of mulch and rusted metal, but nothing Heavenly had appeared. Honestly, if he allowed his rational brain control for a moment, he wasn't surprised. She had no incentive to come out and talk to him and he had nothing to make her; still, he knew he had to try, for Cas.

Because Cas wouldn't leave to go back to Heaven if he had a choice, right? Time and again he had chosen them over Heaven, why would he go back on that now? Especially with Jack in the picture.

He cursed Naomi under his breath, just as there was a bright flash of light.

"Now that's just rude," Naomi said. Her pale grey suit looked far too light for the chill of winter, but she didn't seem to notice the cold. Frigging angels. Dean himself was trying not to shiver, despite the thick jacket he'd grabbed on the way out of the bunker, the roads had been icy in the pre-dawn frost and even now that it was light, the grass crunched and snapped under his feet.

"Naomi." Dean snarled,

"Dean Winchester," Naomi raised an eyebrow delicately, "and now that the formalities are done, what do you want?"

"I want you to stop messing with Cas, you psycho bitch!"

Naomi closed her eyes for a moment and sighed in the way annoyed parents do when a toddler is trying their patience; she actually looked tired, which was unusual for an angel. "I don't know what you're talking about. I can assure you, Heaven has quite given up Castiel as a lost cause."

"Really? Then why's he planning on goin' back upstairs?"

Naomi tilted her head in an exaggerated gesture of confusion, "I'm sure I have no idea," she said, "this is the first I'm hearing about it."

"Yeah, right. You expect me to believe you wouldn't just love the chance to get all up in his brain again?"

"My work was born from necessity, not pleasure." Naomi said smartly, "If Castiel returns he will be welcomed, Heaven's power is waning dramatically and we could use him, but it will be his choice."

"'Cause you're all about choice, aren't you?" Dean growled, slipping an angel blade from an inside pocket. Naomi eyed it warily but didn't step back, instead she folded her arms across her chest, her pristine suit didn't so much as crease. That only irritated him further, after everything she'd done to Cas, how could she stand there like butter wouldn't melt, say he'd be 'welcomed', when he'd never known more than the definition of the word until he found a home with humans. "You tried to get Cas to kill me."

"Successfully, too," she added, "He'd killed many simulations of you before he failed in that crypt. It took a lot of training to get him to that point, I'm still not sure what went wrong."

"What?" Dean couldn't help the word that slipped out, Cas had never told him that, though he had noticed a delicacy to Cas' interactions with him for a long time after that day, as if he were constantly apologising for something. Dean had just assumed it had to do with beating him to a pulp and then vanishing with the angel tablet, he'd never thought to ask him about it.

"Yes," Naomi said thoughtfully, "it was interesting to say the least, watching him struggle like that. I'd never seen that dichotomy in an angel before, not even Castiel and he's always been rebellious." She shook herself and smiled at Dean, it wasn't a genuine smile, born of a curt professionalism, "But that's not what we're here to talk about, is it? You think I've recalibrated Castiel, I haven't. Are we done?"

"Not even close. You've done something to him. There's no way he'd just decide to up and leave."

"Why not? He's done it before."

Dean's teeth ground together, popping his jaw.

"Because he wouldn't leave Jack."

"Ah," Naomi's tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth and she looked more amused than Dean thought the situation warranted, "the nephilim. Yes, he seemed attached." Her eyes slid over him once and her professional smirk twitched slightly,

"Attachments were always going to be his downfall."

"What the hell do you mean by that? Is that a threat?" Dean advanced on her once again, wanting nothing more than to bury his blade right in that smug face, but they both knew it was all bluster, she knew something, and Dean couldn't kill her until he knew that that was.

"I have no need to threaten him, Mr Winchester. Like I said, we could use him in Heaven." She glanced at the sandbox to her left and sighed, "We could use a miracle in Heaven."

"Yeah, well, karma's a bitch," Dean said, "what did you mean about Cas' downfall?"

"It's not my place to say." Naomi answered, her gaze jumping back to him, "If Castiel didn't tell you himself then he must have a reason."

"Tell me _what_?!" The point of the angel blade dipped to the floor and he didn't bother to right it, it was an empty threat and a weak one. He knew he was lucky that Naomi didn't seem to be in a smiting mood, he knew he was pushing too sloppy, too desperate for answers, but that's because he just couldn't wrap his brain around it. Cas was _leaving_, after he'd told him... or been about to tell him… It just didn't make any damn sense.

He wasn't a complete moron; he knew that Cas felt something for him, he'd known it for years, the way Cas looked at him, the things he said, the dance they did, flirting with the idea of acting but neither stepping forward; because of him, because _he_ wasn't ready. He was too scared, too damaged not to brush it off and call it friendship, and Cas followed his lead. But Dean knew, he _knew_ that if he ever got his act together, screwed up his courage, faced whatever lingering doubts that clung to him like leeches and pried them away one by one, that Cas would reciprocate.

_So why hadn't he?_

"What did I just say?" Naomi snapped, "Heaven is barely functioning, I don't have time to indulge your petty emotions. Now, I am grateful to Castiel for saving Heaven, and for the sacrifice he made, even if it wasn't for us, but that doesn't mean I have to play marriage counsellor. Good day, Mr Winchester." She turned on her heel and the glaring light of Heaven began to build as the portal started to open.

It hurt, more than a little, bone-deep and burning; the happy ending he'd been pushing away for years had vanished when he finally reached for it and now he was left floundering in the dark.

He knew it was selfish of him to feel betrayed. Cas didn't owe him anything, least of all whatever Dean had asked him for, and Cas had never said anything. Maybe things had changed for him, maybe he'd given up, or maybe Dean had just been plain wrong and misread their entire relationship.

Still, that sting pinched his skin all wrong. It was enough for him to grab for Naomi's elbow as she made to step back through the gate and she turned in surprise, tensing as though preparing for a fight, but Dean had no fight left in him.

"Please," he mumbled, "I gotta know why."

Her features held more impatience than sympathy and she yanked her arm out of his grip with ease.

"Why? Why does Castiel do anything?" She asked scornfully, "To protect his favourite humans. Though if you ask me, you _all_ would've been better off just letting the apocalypse happen as planned. Look what's happened since; Heaven, torn apart and decimated by civil war, leviathan running rampant, Lucifer out of his cage, the line of prophets wiped out, the Darkness set free, portals to other worlds and now the Empty is awake and wants retribution; how many more lives will be destroyed before you Winchesters are done? How many more souls will you send my way? How long until Heaven spits them back out? And now you have the gall to accuse _me _of manipulating things for my own gain?" Her eyes sparked blue-white and Dean stepped back, reflexively raising his weapon.

Her words set off a violent conflict within himself, on the one hand, she was right; half the fires they'd put out had been ones that they'd poured gasoline on first; on the other, she was implying, heavily, that it hadn't been worth it, that everything they'd done since they discovered the existence of angels and their bullshit heavenly plan had been a mistake, that the past decade had been nothing but a long line of screw-ups and bad choices, just trying to dig their way out of the hole they'd die in.

God knew how many times he'd thought that exact same thing, his and Sam's not-so-merry-go-round of sacrifice and death, each fresh layer of blood staining his hands darker, every person that they couldn't save a new weight added to his back; he'd spent many a night in an alcohol-fuzzy spiral, debating their effectiveness against the price paid. He'd eventually push it aside, bury it under the thought that they were doing more damage because they were doing more good. Their stakes were higher, so their losses would be too.

He knew that he and Sam mattered more in the grand scheme of things than any of the people they had lost along the way. Everyone kept telling them so, they were chosen, legacies, _important_. He hated it, hated to even think it, but he could no longer dispute it. They were more than just hunters privy to the secrets of the dark, they were tangled up in something cosmic; born from destiny at the sticking end of a cupid's arrow, mirrors to the two most powerful archangels in creation, their lives splashed across the pages of a gospel written by God Himself; they couldn't escape this life, all they could do was try to make something with it, so that's what they did, they _tried_. And that might just be the only thing that got him out of bed some days.

"Don't you try and turn this around on me," Dean snarled low in his throat, "you winged assholes didn't care about people when you were the ones stacking everything to fall. And for what? To get Daddy's attention? If you wanted to actually do some good then you'd get off your cloud and freaking _do_ something, Michael's the most powerful son of a bitch you crapped out, this one's supercharged and gone rogue and you're leaving it to two humans, one angel and a _child _to take him down?"

"I gave Castiel his location," Naomi said, "that's more than enough. You've proven your resourcefulness time and again and we have no power to spare. There are nine angels in Heaven right now, Dean. _Nine_. We can't hold if Michael decides to attack, so we will give him no reason to. We must protect the souls. What happens to them on Earth is no longer our concern."

Dean got his hackles up at that, his nails bit crescents into his palm, "Wow, just like your dad, huh? Jumping ship when things start to suck."

"We have the option and we're going to use it," Naomi snapped, then she sighed and stepped back towards the gate and that light began to build once more, "Well, this has been unpleasant. Good day, Mr Winchester, and good luck with Michael."

"Wait! You didn't tell me about Cas!"

Naomi's eyes flicked over Dean's shoulder just as the light reached it's peak, Dean threw up his free hand to shield his eyes, "Ask him yourself," she said, and she was gone.

Dean swore and kicked at a pile of sand that had spilled from the wooden enclosure to the sandbox, scattering it over the dirt like glitter and doing nothing for his mood.

"Well… at least you didn't kill her," came a rough voice from behind him. Dean jumped and spun on the balls of his feet to see Cas standing there, three feet from the open passenger door of the white Muntz, which he hadn't even heard rumbling to a stop.

"They didn't even fight." Jack popped his head out from the back window, "I thought they'd fight," he informed Cas, who smiled at the boy before his eyes dragged back to Dean, he looked nervous.

"How long've you been there?" Dean asked, feeling sheepish.

"Just pulled up," Sam said, slamming the driver's side door shut and walking around the hood to join him, folding his arms and looking at the angel sternly, "and I think it's about time Cas told us both what was going on."

Dean glanced between his brother, Cas and the back seat of the Muntz Jet, where Jack was still half-hanging out the window.

"In front of the kid?"

"Apparently he already knows," Sam said, his lips pursing,

"Hey, thanks for the head's up, Jack."

Jack looked mollified, "Cas made me promise," he mumbled,

"Well this is off to a great start," Dean said, "what could you tell him that you couldn't tell us? What, were you giving him the angel sex-talk?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Cas bit out, "he was there, I couldn't exactly protect him from it."

"Protect him from what?" Dean ground through gritted teeth, his mouth tasted like gravel, "protect _us_ from what?"

Cas looked between the two of them, eyes wide, he looked cornered, trapped, then his eyes settled on Dean and he held them carefully, then Cas swallowed and looked away.

"I made a deal for Jack's life," he said, "the Empty invaded Heaven looking for him, it said that he didn't belong there because he's part archangel so I offered to take his place. It accepted. It resents me for waking it up."

Sam let out a surprised noise of dismay but Dean crossed his arms and stared the angel down.

"And?"

"And?" Cas repeated blankly,

"_And _you wouldn't be here if that was the end of the story,"

Cas looked like he'd hoped Dean wouldn't notice that part.

"There were… conditions," he hedged.

"Cas," Jack said, a warning note in his voice.

Cas looked over at the boy and bit his lip before nodding, his shoulders rolled back as he braced himself for whatever reaction he was going to get from the brothers.

"The Empty said it wanted to wait, it wanted me to forget. It said that it would come for me when I'm happy."

"When you _let_ yourself be happy," Jack corrected.

Next to him, Sam let out a long, deep sigh and reached one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Oh, Cas,"

Dean's brain was stuck. It didn't help that Cas was looking at him like his eyes had just flicked black, it was the same unsure fear and it pierced him deep. He opened his mouth to say that it was gonna be okay, that they were gonna figure something out and fix everything, that they'd kill the Empty if they had to.

"You're not happy?" Was all that came out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Sam's sharp look, he saw Jack shift awkwardly in his seat and slide across to the other side of the cream leather, but his entire focus was on the angel who stared back, sad and stricken.

"I-"

Dean waited, knowing that usually, he would interrupt with a further clarification of his feelings of betrayal. Apparently, that's what Cas had been counting on, because he trailed off without an answer.

"So what you said, back in the bunker-"

"No, Dean, _no_, that was true, I wouldn't-"

"We put your name on the table," Dean said quietly, "didn't that make you happy? Or is being a part of this family just a chore to you?"

He wasn't reacting right, he knew he wasn't reacting right but he couldn't stop, it was like he was watching the words unroll from his tongue without his permission, he watched them shoot across the few feet of playground tarmac and he watched them sink into Cas' skin.

"How dare you." Cas rumbled, anger sparking in those sad, blue eyes, "How _dare_ you say that to me!" He strode forward and seized Dean by the front of his shirt, lifting him up onto his toes,

"Whoa, Cas, hey!" Sam tried to step in, pulling ineffectually at the angel's shoulder. Cas didn't even notice, his eyes were daggers aflame and Dean tasted electricity and ash on his tongue.

"After everything I've given, everything we've been through, you think that of me?! I have proven myself time and again for this family. I have killed for you, I have died for you, if I had a soul, I would sell it for you. How dare you stand there and tell me that I don't care!"

Dean said nothing, his hands went up automatically to clutch at where Cas held him, dropping the angel blade in the process. All he could do was stare. How had he not seen that sadness before now? It was deep, pervasive, swallowing him whole. He knew that Cas could be serious, knew that his laughs were rare and his smile didn't come easy, but he'd never thought that he was truly _unhappy_. His fingers worked into the gap between Cas' thumb and his forefinger, and Cas let them, his grip loosened just enough to let them slide in to the second joint, curling over his skin. It was an intimate touch in a confusing moment and Dean didn't know why he'd initiated it. Cas lowered him back down, his body angled, maybe deliberately, so that Sam couldn't see, for which Dean was grateful.

Gathering that the fight was over, Sam threw his hands up and walked back to the cars, muttering about stupid jerks and stubborn angels.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, still holding Cas' hand where it gripped his shirt, "I didn't know things were that bad."

Cas sighed and let go, his hand sliding from Dean's slowly, dragging skin across skin until there was only cold air. "They're not,"

"But you've not been happy this whole time?"

"Dean, think about our lives, we currently have an archangel plotting to destroy the world, Heaven is crumbling, we've lost people and we have so much depending on us winning and that's just the past few months. Besides, having a deal hanging over you that says if you're happy you die kind of puts a damper on the good moments."

Dean huffed a laugh, "Yeah, I guess it would. So is that what you meant, about leaving?"

Cas nodded, his eyes shiny and warm, "I don't want to leave you, Dean."

"So don't. We'll fix this, like we always do, until then… you just gotta stay neutral, right?"

Cas was already shaking his head, "You can't. You have to promise me that you'll let this go."

"Hell no, I'm not promising that," Dean said immediately, frowning and taking a step back, "what the hell, Cas, do you _wanna_ be miserable forever?"

"The deal I made was for Jack. If I break _my_ side, the Empty will come for him, if you and Sam interfere, it might come for you. You can't go to that place, do you understand? None of you! You remember those six weeks in that government facility? You said it was worse than Hell. That's what the Empty _is_. It's nothing. An eternity of nothing."

"And you wanna go back there?"

"Dean," Cas said softly, his head tilting, hair catching the sun, the almost-black lightened with streaks of deep chestnut, his tongue plucking over the word like a goddamn guitar string, "I was always going back there."

"No." If he said it firmly enough, if he believed it hard enough, maybe he could make it true.

The corner of Cas' mouth tilted upwards, "I knew you'd be difficult about this, it's why I didn't tell you."

"How can just expect me to sit back and do nothing, knowing that one day you might win twenty bucks on a scratchcard and just blink out?"

Cas raised an eyebrow, "I doubt very much that twenty dollars would make me so happy I perish."

"That's not the point!" Dean shouted. He ran a hand through his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp, "I don't know how to feel about this, man, am I supposed to be relieved that you're miserable? Should it hurt that you're still alive? The only thing I know for sure is that I'm pissed that you made such a stupid deal in the first place!"

Cas' eyes ignited again and he drew himself up, "You would have done the same. For your son. For _our_ son you would have made that deal too."

Dean scoffed but he couldn't dispute that. Chuck knew he'd made some stupid deals for the people he loved. But to give up his happiness? Sure, not every day was candy and sparklers but he had everything he'd grown up longing for: his mom alive, his brother at his side, a stable place to call home, even a kid—which he never thought he'd have—and the life of a hunter. He also had Cas to share all that with. At this point, what _wouldn't_ he do to protect it? In the river of crap they waded through on a daily basis, those things were the pockets of fresh air that kept him breathing. They were all load-bearing pillars to his life; if one fell, the whole thing could crumble, and right now the Cas pillar was looking pretty wobbly.

"I can't say you're wrong," Dean said, "it just sucks. You deserve to be happy, Cas. Like you said, after everything you've given, you deserve that."

Cas' eyes softened, "Well, you can rest assured that I'm going to die happy." He said with a small smile. It was such a bad joke that Dean almost laughed, almost.

"Dyin' happy don't mean shit." He said instead, "You know what Heaven is, right, Cas? You can make your peace with death and you can know it's coming, you can get high enough you don't even feel it, but then you wake up and the things that you could've had, the things you denied yourself, the things you were scared to ask for, they're gone, and all the maybes and all the could haves and all the almosts, they're gone too. And if they never happened then you can't re-live them upstairs, can you? The Empty sounds to me a helluva lot like a Heaven with no happy. Dyin' happy ain't nothin'. It's _living_ happy that matters."

"Unfortunately, that's not an option that I have." Cas said shortly, "I won't risk you, I won't. And I don't care what it costs me."

"Yeah, well, I do, okay? I care a whole lot. When you get dragged outta here, you think I can just get over the fact that you spent the last few months of your life miserable?"

"I'm not miserable," Cas insisted,

"Well, you're not happy."

"Good thing too, or I wouldn't be here." Cas retorted, a harsh bite to his tone.

"Not the point!" Dean shouted, "You wouldn't even have _told _us about this if I hadn't come out here would you? What was your plan? To just never be happy, or to pick your moment to die and leave us wondering what the hell happened?"

Cas' jaw clenched and Dean knew he'd gone too far, or gotten too close to the truth. Cas strode over to the discarded angel blade and snatched it up, turning it hilt-first towards Dean, pressing it into his hand before he could react. The angel's eyes were fire, staring him down, not giving an inch. "You want a choice? You want to be in control? Take it, make your choice, Dean. Do you want me happy, or do you want me alive? Those are your options, those are your _only_ options. So what's it going to be?"

Dean jerked backwards like he'd been electrocuted but Cas yanked him back, his fingers were closed around the hilt of the blade and held there, Cas pressed forward until the tip of the blade hit skin. At the contact Dean let out a sound that was half a sob and ripped himself away, the blade fell and hit the ground with a soft thunk. They stared at each other for a few seconds, the righteous fury in Cas' eyes dimming when he saw whatever was on Dean's face.

"Screw you." Dean snarled, the curse undermined somewhat by the way his voice shook. He left the blade where it was and shouldered past the angel as he headed for the impala.

He slammed the door shut behind him. Baby whined in protest but he couldn't bring himself to care, he was too busy trying to blink back the image of grace spewing from Cas' eyes as the point of a blade protruded from his chest while Lucifer leered behind him, of Cas below him, bloodied and begging as Dean hefted a blade, preparing to kill, a soft grip on his wrist, a plea in his ears.

"GAAAAAH!" He screamed, wordless and furious, pounding his palm on the wheel. He shoved the key into the ignition and twisted, but before he moved the passenger-side door opened and Sam dropped into the seat.

"I figured we should talk."

"Get out."

Instead of answering, Sam reached around to pull his seatbelt over and click it into place, a precaution he never usually bothered with. Dean understood the message. Sam wasn't leaving. But that didn't mean he had to talk.

"Fine." He reached for the radio and turned the volume up, way up. Sam jumped as AC/DC blasted from the speakers and Dean peeled out of the parking lot and through the residential estate, where they probably had a lot of curtain-twitchers ready to call the Neighbourhood Watch for a noise violation but whatever, they'd hit the highway in ten.

Xxx

Jack sat next to him silently, shoulders hunched, gaze thoughtful as he stared at the road ahead.

Castiel glanced at him, guilt gnawing at his insides.

"I'm sorry you saw that," he said eventually, indicating a left turn at the end of a quiet lane before pulling out.

"Dean looked very upset." Jack said,

"Yes. I… That was not well-handled." Cas said, pressing his lips together at the mental image of Dean's face when the tip of the blade touched his chest, horrified, terrified, pained.

"Did you fight?" Jack asked, straightening up in his seat, "I saw you pick up the blade. Were you going to use it?"

"I-" Cas cleared his throat, "I offered Dean a choice. But no, I was never going to use the blade on him."

"Was he going to use it on you?"

Cas shifted uncomfortably but pursued with his honesty, so far Jack had responded well to candour, which was good, because according to Dean he was a terrible liar, "That was the choice that I offered him."

"Why?"

"Because I was angry," Cas said apologetically, "anger is a powerful emotion and I let it get the best of me. I shouldn't have. I was needlessly cruel and this is not a situation that requires cruelty. He just wants to help."

"We all want to help." Jack said immediately, "None of us like this deal, Cas."

"I know," Cas sighed, "I don't like it either. But I don't regret it, and I won't reverse it. There's nothing to be done. Which is partially why Dean is being so unreasonable. He hates _not_ acting."

"You gave up your happiness for me." Jack said quietly, Castiel could feel the boy's eyes on the side of his neck. "I don't know how to feel about that."

"It's a complicated thing," Cas said, turning his head to smile at the boy, though the smile was fleeting, "I daresay you'll feel a lot. You might be angry, you might be sad, you might be relieved, you might be happy, you might be all of those things at once. None of those feelings are wrong, Jack. This deal was always going to be hard, but I could not have lived with myself if I hadn't taken it. You are my child, and as your parent I will do anything to protect you. If Sam or Dean had been in my position, they would have taken the deal too. And I know that this situation is not ideal, but it remains and we have more important things to worry about. It doesn't help anyone to argue the same three points over and over again."

Xxx

Dean had been arguing the same three points over and over again with Sam for the past hour. Okay, so maybe instead, he'd just been yelling the same three points over whatever Sam was trying to say for the past hour. But he couldn't help it, every time he tried to reason it out, his brain would come up against a blue screen 404 error and reboot.

"Asshole tried to make me kill him!" He raged, yanking the wheel to change lanes; from behind him came the blare of a horn. Dean flipped them off without looking.

"Well you seem to be trying to kill _us_ at the moment." Sam said, sounding bored, raising a hand in apology to the car that had been forced to swerve, the driver shaking her fist at Dean.

"So what now?" He yelled, throwing his hands into the air, making Sam jump forward for the wheel but Dean smacked him away, "do we wait until after Michael's dead to fix this?"

"You think it can be fixed?" Sam asked. He didn't sound argumentative, he sounded… worried.

"It's gotta be." Dean said firmly, "We always think of something, right? We'll get a win." He risked a quick look over at his brother. Sam was chewing on his bottom lip, "Right?"

"I dunno, Dean. I think this time, there is no win."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well..." Sam said as though mulling over each strand of thought as he processed it for speech, "like Cas said, if he breaks the deal, the Empty takes Jack, if _we_ interfere, we draw the attention of the Empty and that's definitely gonna bite us in the ass somehow. If we do nothing then Cas is-. I just don't know which path is the least bad. We don't know anything about the Empty, what it wants, how it works, but it's got some _major _pull if it can get into Heaven to get to Jack."

Dean scoffed, "Come on, getting into Heaven these days ain't that hard. There's like six of 'em and they're armed with frigging toothpicks."

"Which makes the Empty the thing with the most power over our afterlives right now. You really wanna risk being dragged to eternal nothing?"

"You want _Cas_ to be the one dragged there instead?"

"Of course not." Sam said earnestly, "I'm just saying, this is way above our paygrade. And it's not really our choice to make."

"Well Cas has already made his decision and it was a stupid ass decision, so to paraphrase Director Nick Fury, I've elected to ignore it."

"So what, you're gonna go behind his back? Put us in danger, put _Jack_ in danger? He's our kid and we've gotta protect him, no matter what. That's why Cas made that deal in the first place. I get that you wanna help him, I do. But it's not just us on the line any more, you can't just go charging in and damn the consequences because I don't know about you but I can't lose Jack again."

Dean remembered Sam's drawn face, staring through his tears at Jack's frail, human body lying like a bundle of sticks under his white bedsheet. He remembered Sam's choked voice, his utter despair. Dean had lost children before. Emma was still a slow scratch at the back of his mind that he did his best to ignore, Ben was a wrench to his gut every time he thought about him, Kevin had been a little like… maybe not a son but still family to him and the guilt surrounding that whole mess still ached deep, and Sam… man, every time he lost Sam it was like he was disintegrating in slow motion. Sam might be his brother but he had raised that kid. He'd been a father before he hit double digits. But Sam had never had that before. Aside from Kevin, who again, more of a nephew, he'd never had someone look to him for their every need, someone still developing, still learning and curious, a child.

"I know!" He said, pained, "I know I'm being selfish. I know this is Cas' choice and it's to save Jack, I _know_. But I need him, man. He's like the one person I trust to watch our backs, completely, and... he was with me in Purgatory, he saw me in Hell, he knows better than anyone what I was, what I did, and he's never treated me different, he's never looked at me the way you sometimes look at me, the way Jack looks at me when I'm being a dick. Not afraid but like… like you _could_ be afraid. But he looks at me like he knows better, like he knows that _I'm _better and it makes me want to be that guy so that I don't let him down." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "hell of a reason not to want your best friend to die, right?"

"And if that were your only reason, you'd be an asshole," Sam said conversationally, "but it's not. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I mean, what the hell was he _thinking,_" Dean continued, ignoring the eye-roll from the passenger seat, "making a deal like that? I am _right_ to be pissed! So he hasn't been happy this_ entire_ freaking time and now he never _can_ be? And he didn't even _tell _us! What if I'd- what if I did something, what if I'd said something or- Hell, I got him to add his name to the table. I thought that would make him happy, shouldn't it have made him happy?"

"_Do you want me happy, or do you want me alive?"_

"And I know this life is rough, _believe me_, I know, but he can't just cut off any possibility of getting something good out of it! And what the hell happens if he discovers Ben and Jerry's, huh? Is he just gonna die and leave us to kill Michael and raise Jack and deal with whatever big bad comes next and live the rest of our lives knowing that he gave up everything he had to help us and for _what?! _Why did he even stay if he hates it so much?" His next breath shuddered into his lungs, too fast, too shallow, "I thought he _wanted_ this, I thought he wanted to _stay_ this time. He shouldn't have made that freaking deal!"

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over, you can't drive like this, you need to calm down."

"I'm fine."

"Pull over!" Sam yelled.

Dean jumped and spun the wheel until he hit loose gravel. He turned off the engine and the music he'd been shouting over died. The sudden quiet meant that all he could hear was his pounding chest, his fast, jolting breaths and Cas' ultimatum ringing in his head.

"_Do you want me happy, or do you want me alive?"_

He barely noticed that his cheeks were wet, barely noticed the way he was shaking so badly he couldn't tell if he was cold or angry or afraid. His chest squeezed painfully, he couldn't breathe, he still felt that slight pressure on the end of the angel blade in his hand.

"Breathe," Sam said, undoing his seatbelt and twisting to face his brother properly, reaching out a hand to place it, warm and heavy on his shoulder, "take it slow, just breathe."

xxx

"Are you and Dean in love?" Jack asked a few minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence. Cas choked on nothing and coughed, quite unprepared for that question,

"Err..."

"It would make sense." Jack continued, a thoughtful frown creasing between his eyes as he stared straight ahead. "You fight a lot and you say mean things sometimes but you also smile a lot more when the other is around. You always look for each other when you first enter a room and he's more careful on a hunt when you're there. And he always cooks extra even though you don't need to eat and you stop talking to listen when he sings in the car. You're different when you're around each other, lighter, like you both have to hold something heavy but you share it when you're together. Isn't that what love looks like?"

Cas felt a flush creeping up his neck and he rubbed at the back of it with a hand, accidentally nudging a button with his elbow and flashing the car in front.

"Sorry!" He said, exaggerating the mouth movement and holding up a flat palm, which, he had learned, was both an apology and a thank you in driver speak.

Jack was still staring at him expectantly, head tilted slightly to the side.

"Well," he began, having absolutely no idea how to continue, "love can look different to different people. Um… there are a lot of different kinds, the way I love you for example is different to the way I love the Winchesters and different again to the way I love cheeseburgers when I get the opportunity to taste them properly."

"That's not what I asked. Sam said that Dean nearly proposed to you. Don't you have to be in love to get married?"

"Technically no," Cas said, carefully, "although it helps if you want the marriage to last, but again, people get married for all kinds of reasons. Besides, Dean didn't propose, Sam was just being dramatic. Dean almost, um… he seemed like he was about to say something and I didn't let him finish but it, err, definitely wasn't a proposal of the kind you're thinking of."

He couldn't help but smile slightly at the image. He wondered how Dean _would _propose if he ever felt inclined to. Slap him on the back perhaps with a gruff, "let's get married," or press a ring into his hand with no explanation and run away. The thought made him irrationally sad, not that marriage was something that Castiel had thought about or even held much value in, he'd been on enough hunts involving cheating spouses, bitter divorces and unhappy couples who were only together out of obligation rather than any mutual feeling of respect and care to know that a bit of paper and the words of a priest didn't make a relationship binding.

"But are you in love?" Jack pressed.

Cas sighed deeply, clearly the boy wouldn't be distracted by different reasons for marriage or his love of cheeseburgers.

"I feel… differently for Dean than I do for Sam," he admitted slowly, glancing at the boy, "I love both of them, Sam is my family and a dear friend and Dean is those things too but also something else. I would call it a different kind of love. I cannot speak for Dean."

"I think he does." Jack said firmly, "When you were dead, he was angry all the time and not very nice. I thought that he was just mean. Sam said that he was sad but I didn't understand until you came back." He turned back to stare straight ahead at the road. "I hope he doesn't go back to being mean when you go," he added, "I think I like him better when he's happy."

Cas pressed his lips together and blinked the mist from his eyes. "Well, I'm not going anywhere yet," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "you know, I think Sam told me about a natural history museum that was somewhere around here. How about we stop off? Maybe get some breakfast?"

"That sounds fun." Jack agreed, brightening almost immediately. Cas smiled at him and told him to keep an eye out for the turning.

Xxx

Sam had insisted on driving and Dean couldn't find it in him to argue. It had only a few minutes for the panic attack to pass completely but he still felt shaky and cold. He leaned his temple against the chill window and stared at the dash in front of him. He'd accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror before and it hadn't been pretty.

"I think it's time we talk about the Cas thing." Sam said, glancing at him.

"I been yelling about the Cas thing all day, gimme a break." Dean grunted.

"Not the deal," Sam clarified, "the other thing."

"What other thing?"

Sam sighed as though Dean were being deliberately obtuse. Okay, maybe he was but he'd just had an honest to Chuck panic attack. He hadn't had one of those in years and his brother looked grim and stoic in the way he did when Dean had freaked him the hell out but he was putting on a brave face, it was an expression that lanced through his chest, he recognised it from the mirror.

"The thing about how you feel about him."

"I'm pissed, that's how I feel about him." Dean groused, shifting his elbow up so he could rest his chin on it more comfortably.

"Stop dodging, you know what I'm talking about."

"Sammy, I have no idea what you're talking about." Dean deadpanned, "Look, it's been a long morning. I just wanna go home, make a sandwich, shower and have a power nap, is that so much to ask?"

"We've got at least another hour before you can do any of that stuff," Sam pointed out, "we've gotta talk about something,"

"No, we really don't."

"Dean-" Sam said, then he cleared his throat, "Look, I'm just gonna say it. You're in love with Cas, you have been for years. There, it's said, it's in the air and now we can talk about it."

Dean froze, Sam looked over expectantly, as if waiting for Dean to start singing his feelings like he was in a damn musical.

"You're pullin' that out your ass," Dean said icily, "I like _women_, Sam,"

"I know you do," Sam said darkly, in the tone of voice that reminded him of exactly how many times Sam had accidentally walked in on him 'liking' women, "but you like Cas too and he's not the only guy you've ever ogled. Look, I swore I wasn't gonna bring this up unless you did first, until you were ready, but this whole persona, this secret self that you think you have, it's crap. And it's killing you."

"So… what? I can't admire a guy's dress sense now?"

"Dean, please. Don't insult me." Sam said scornfully, "You were going to tell Cas that you love him last night."

"I wasn't gonna tell him shit!" Dean's voice had risen an octave without his say so and he was starting to feel uncomfortably warm again. He sat up straight, twitchy and uncomfortable. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Dude, please, I've watched you pine after Cas for the past decade. I know it's serious, and I know that one of the reasons you're taking this deal so badly is because you were finally ready to do something about it and now you can't."

"Shut up!" Dean yelled. His hands reaching up to press into his face. He couldn't look at Sam, couldn't look his brother in the eyes as he spouted all he knew about Dean's weakness, about how ashamed he was to have a brother who couldn't keep it in his pants, how he'd known this whole time how pathetic he was, a raging queer who thought he was a hunter, how embarrassed he was to admit he was a Winchester because everyone knew about Dean and how he couldn't pick a side, laughed at how he thought he was being _subtle_ when it couldn't have been more obvious. He could hear his father's voice echoing in his skull.

"_Look, Dean, you can't be like that around Sammy, he looks up to you and you've gotta protect him. I get that you were curious and that's fine, but you don't have the luxury of being curious. No hunter will ever respect you if another guy can make you his bitch and you're gonna need respect if you're gonna keep Sammy safe. So let's just agree that it's out of your system now and you can go back to normal."_

But Sammy _knew_, he'd known all along how much of a freak Dean was, how screwed up, how twisted and wrong and here he was, stuck in a car with a brother he hated because _Dean_ had dragged him back in, because _Dean_ hadn't respected his decision to leave the life behind him, because _Dean _was so terrified of being alone that he thought ruining his baby brother's life was a fair price to pay for the company on the way down.

His chest was on fire, when had he stopped breathing? He tried it now but couldn't quite remember how. There was a strange rattling wheeze around him, was it Baby? Had he missed something when checking her engine last week? Had he messed up the way he'd messed up protecting Sammy? Maybe if he'd listened to John, if he'd been better at squashing it, maybe Sammy wouldn't have had to jump into literal Hell with the devil riding shotgun, if he'd been less distracted by Cas, maybe he wouldn't have gotten pinned by those vamps in Apocalypse World and had to watch helplessly as they tore out his brother's throat.

The rattling wheeze got worse and he realised that he was the one making it; he almost laughed, would have if he'd had the air. Of course, _he_ was the only thing wrong in the car. He clutched at his chest with numb fingers, his vision swimming; blurry shapes and frigid air and a sound that he couldn't make out over the sound of his own failure to breathe. He couldn't even do that right, the most normal thing on the planet and he couldn't even do that. How Sam had made it to his teens was a mystery. Maybe John had known how bad he would be at this, maybe that was why he'd avoided other hunters, maybe that was why he'd hit Dean harder after he'd caught him with Johnny Phelps. He'd been right to, he deserved worse, it's not like anything good had come out of Dean's willingness to be someone's bitch; cold hands and hot tears and the press of a couple twenty dollar bills in his palm; a busted lip and a bottle of stolen painkillers; Alastair's slimy laugh, the screech of rusted metal and pain.

So this is how he died, on a featureless stretch of Route 281. He _felt_ like he was dying; his heart was too fast, too loud, his entire torso felt like it had collapsed in on itself. He was imploding and his head swirled like someone had put his brain in a blender and set it to purée. He couldn't see, couldn't focus, he smelled vomit and fear and Hell.

He always knew he'd go back there.

Xxx

Well… that put paid to Sam's brilliant idea of forcing Dean to talk about it. As soon as he saw Dean bury his face in his hands he cursed, swerved the impala to the side of the road and yanked on the handbrake, then he was out and around, dragging Dean from the car to prop him against it instead, manoeuvring him like a rag doll when he coughed up some bile, forcing his head to the side and leaning him over, rubbing his back soothingly while Dean vomited what looked like the last three days' worth of ingested food and alcohol, trying not to gag at the smell. He didn't think Dean felt it, he wasn't sure he was even conscious; he was trembling and sweating and wheezing hard enough that it sounded like a faulty engine, like a death rattle. Sam clasped Dean's hands in his own, startled at how clammy they felt; he pressed them to his own chest and took slow, measured breaths, in and out, in and out, as rhythmic as he could make them while watching his brother have an actual freaking meltdown.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, "come on, Dean, breathe."

He was such a freaking idiot. What had he been _thinking_? Dean had had a panic attack not even an hour before and he'd pushed on the very issue that had caused it. Dean wasn't ready, he would've told Sam if he was. He was so stupid for thinking _now_ was the right time for this talk, especially when Dean couldn't even wrap his head around the deal Cas had made.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, and his voice came out plaintive, like a child who thought that the apology would fix the problem, that Dean would be okay if only he was sorry enough. "I'm so sorry."

It took a long time, over twice as long as his last attack, Sam sat there for almost twenty minutes, holding his brother's hand to his own chest, heart in his throat and apologies spewing from his mouth. It had been so long that he was actually seriously considering calling Cas, he wasn't sure how much use angelic healing would be against pure fear but at least he'd feel less alone. Eventually, Dean's breathing eased, unconsciously matching rhythms to the one he could feel and his eyes, which had been wide and staring, blinked and focussed on him once again.

"Hey," Sam said, relief coursing through him like a gentle breeze, "you okay?"

"You weren't supposed to know."

Sam's heart broke at how desolate his brother sounded, his voice was hoarse from the strain on his throat. He didn't try to pull away from Sam's hands so he kept them where they were.

"It's okay, we don't have to talk about this. I'm sorry I pushed."

"I wasn't supposed to be like that around you."

"Like what?" If Dean had been hiding his panic attacks (and let's face it, it was likely) then Sam was going to be _pissed_, just the thought of Dean like that, curled up in his bedroom, terrified, unable to breathe, _alone, _hurt him more than a thousand volts to the chest.

Dean hunched into himself tighter and Sam regretted the question. Now wasn't the time for anger.

"Like I am," his voice was so small that Sam barely heard it but he knew immediately that Dean wasn't talking about his panic attacks. "Dad told me I couldn't- I can't be like that around you."

Sam wanted to cry, he wanted to punch something, he wanted to beat the crap out of John Winchester for making Dean feel like this, like his feelings were something shameful and wrong, like he couldn't act on them because of _him, _like he didn't deserve to take happiness where he found it.

"Hey, look at me," Sam said, staring into Dean's eyes until he complied. Sam nearly recoiled at the self-loathing there, at the darkness, the pain, the fear, as though Sam was about to tell him he hated him, that he was going to take the car and drive it over his legs a few times before leaving him there. "Screw Dad. Dad was an asshole. There is _nothing_ wrong with who you are. I love you and so does Mom, and so does Jack, and so does Cas, and so does everyone else in our weird, screwed up family, got it? Look, you've made mistakes and you've done some bad things, but _this_ isn't one of them. Who you are and how you love _isn't_ one of them. Do you understand?"

Dean just looked at him, helpless and trembling, his eyes wide and child-like. For the first time, Sam felt like the older brother. He was out of words, he didn't know how to make Dean understand, so he released his hands and tugged him in by the shoulders for a long hug as though he could squeeze out the past four decades worth of internalized hatred and fear and replace it with warmth and love and acceptance. He couldn't, he knew, but maybe it would help in any case. After a few seconds of Dean sitting woodenly in his arms, he felt fists ball into his shirt at the shoulders and Dean's face buried into Sam's shoulder, clinging to him like a koala bear.

He couldn't say how long they sat there, but Sam's legs were starting to cramp from being knelt down for so long when Dean finally pulled back, sniffing, wiping his eyes on a corner of his flannel.

"Thanks, Sammy." He said. And Sam knew that he hadn't fixed the problem, that Dean didn't believe him yet, not truly. That his self-hate and fear went deeper than one heartfelt speech. But Sam hoped that he at least felt a little better, that he knew Sam wasn't going to turn on him if he ever said the words out loud. It was enough for now and he helped his brother back into the impala, strategically avoiding the puddle of puke, and grabbing him a blanket from the backseat. It probably smelled a bit, having been stuffed down there and forgotten about after a particularly bad hunt in Louisiana, Sam had been dragged into a bog by a kelpie and submerged for almost a full minute before Dean stabbed the thing with an iron spear and pulled him out, but Dean pulled it close around his shoulders all the same.

Sam didn't try to talk for the rest of the drive home.

Xxx

Cas pulled into the bunker garage and parked the Muntz Jet back in its place, knowing that Dean had a specific spot for each car and got pissy if they were rearranged. He would like to co-ordinate a prank with Sam involving that particular quirk one day, but now was not the time. The impala was already there, of course, their museum quest had taken several hours, Cas regaling the boy with stories from his earlier life, more information that the museum could provide, correcting where humans had misinterpreted or just gotten it plain wrong. He'd gotten a lot of odd looks from the museum staff and other visitors but it had been worth it to see Jack's eager face soaking up the knowledge, something any boy and their father should be able to experience. They had a nice time, Cas bought an overdue and overpriced breakfast in the cafe and gave Jack his sandwich to stow away for later if he got peckish on the remaining journey back (he had, Jack was in the body of a teenager after all).

They'd also stopped by the gift shop on the way out, and Cas told Jack to pick something as a keepsake. Jack had chosen a small, pale green eggcup in the shape of a diplodocus, he said it looked kind, like it would help him if he asked. Cas smiled at that and said they should pick something out for Sam and Dean too, Sam had told him about the museum after all and it would be rude to leave Dean out.

He knew that this probably wasn't the best time to waste money buying tat in a museum gift shop when there was an archangel literally plotting to end the world but then again, these were the experiences in the world that they were trying to save. He also thought that perhaps the Winchesters would be too angry at him to accept such gifts as peace offerings, but he walked past a keyring with a certain print encapsulated in the cheap plastic and something in him just told him that it belonged to Dean. They spent a little while deliberating on what to get for Sam, Jack made a face at the paperweight with a real centipede preserved inside and Cas wasn't really sure that a mug with the museum logo was personal enough.

It was silly perhaps, but it was fun too, working their way around the store in mock-seriousness to find the perfect gift, learning about each other's tastes, Jack liked the novelty items, funny quotes on mugs, glow-in-the-dark plastic dinosaurs, an aluminum skull, while Cas found himself drawn to ornaments, even choosing a little black marble turtle for himself. Eventually, they settled on a pair of agate bookends, bright pink overlaying a core of lilac, they were very pretty and also had a practical use, which should appeal to the logically-minded hunter.

Jack gathered up the bag containing their spoils and went on ahead while Cas took a moment to brace himself for more anger, he had no doubts that Dean had raged the entire way home and although he had probably vented enough to keep it contained in front of Jack, Cas wasn't sure he was ready for the pointed jabs or hard looks he was sure to get.

He deserved them, he knew, he had done a very unkind thing, but he had only meant for Dean to see the choice he had the way he did. Binary. There was no third way this time, he would die happy or he would live. And he would prefer to live, even if his joy was tainted bitter he still felt it, he had enjoyed his time with Jack in the museum, a simple family activity that was so rare in the lives they lived and at the very least, he wanted Jack to have memories like that to hold on to.

Still, he shouldn't have pushed that blade into his hand. He definitely had to apologise. He fingered the keyring in his pocket having slipped it from the bag. Another foolish action but he seemed prone to those of late, and he wanted to give it to Dean himself.

He found Sam and Jack in the kitchen, Sam was admiring his new bookends with a huge grin.

"These are great, Jack! I've actually been meaning to put up a new shelf in my room," he said enthusiastically, Jack beamed and hugged Sam around the middle. Sam looked surprised for a moment, then carefully placed the bookends down on the table to return the hug, "It's gonna be okay," he muttered, catching Cas' eye where he hovered by the door, his smile slipping for a minute before returning his attention to Jack, "you know, I'm always here if you wanna talk."

Jack held on for another moment, then stepped back and nodded. He blushed when he turned to see Castiel in the doorway and used the marble turtle as an excuse to duck his head, pressing it into Cas' hand on the way out.

"Is he-" Cas asked, frowning when Jack was safely out of earshot.

"He'll be okay." Sam said quietly, "He had a great time at the museum, good idea, Cas, get him thinking about something _other_ than the end of the world." Sam shook his head, he looked a lot… _heavier_, than he had at the sandbox, tired, exhausted even. Cas felt a pang at that, they all relied on Sam more than they should; he was rational, he was thoughtful, he was the mediator between Dean and the rest of the world, the father who had been supportive of Jack since he was born, who knew his brother's needs better than anyone, who tried to see things from every angle and kept a cool head, and sometimes that made it seem like he was less affected when things went sideways, but now it was painfully clear that he was just trying his best to hold them all together with safety pins and chewing gum, "he's just a kid, you know? He should be worried about homework and pimples and- not this. Who'd've thought that we'd end up raising a kid in this life? I swore I never would… but I guess, Mom swore that too and..." he trailed off, shrugging.

Cas walked further into the kitchen, almost hesitant, "He is half-archangel," he reasoned, "we couldn't have kept him out of this life if we'd tried. I'm just glad he's here, you are the best possible role-model he could have. If he grows up with your strength and compassion, the world will be thankful for it," he offered a gentle smile, which Sam returned, his eyes wet.

"Thanks, Cas," he said, clearing his throat. "And stop looking at me like I'm gonna bite you're head off, I'm not mad. You're right, I would've taken that deal too. Just… just remember that it's not just you that's going through this, okay? It's tough on all of us. We want happiness for you, Cas, but we don't wanna lose you either. It's a weird place to be in, you know?"

"I know," Cas said solemnly, "I'm sorry I'm putting you through this. I didn't wanna tell you until after Michael was taken care of, I can't leave you while he's still a threat. Regardless, I might not have to leave at _all. _I'm needed here and I _want_ to be here. I can experience so much and I _do_ enjoy my life. If I were to go to the Empty, there's no potential for anything, no growth, no change just… nothing. But the Empty said I had to _let_ myself be happy. If it's a conscious decision then I just won't make it and it said it wanted to wait long enough for me to forget. I have a _very_ long memory, Sam. I'm not going anywhere, it's not an immediate concern."

"Maybe, but we're still gonna worry. That's what family does," Sam reached out to clap him on the shoulder, "and with all this _potential_ comes the possibility of changing your fate. If we can do it without risking Jack then we will, understood?"

"Sam-"

"Non-negotiable, Cas," Sam interrupted. Then he picked up the bookends and smiled fondly, "these are really nice, thanks again. We'll have to go back there at some point, maybe even drag Dean along. I really like the aquarium there."

"The fish had no major complaints." Cas said dryly, forcing his face to remain blank, partially because it was true, mostly to watch the look of baffled incredulity on Sam's face, "then again, fish rarely do."

Sam's smile leaked across his face one more and he even chuckled softly, "I forget that you can do that. You know, you're gonna have to teach Jack Enochian, and I'd like to learn too if you wouldn't mind. I know a few of the letters but…"

"Of course," Cas said, smiling too, "I always find your pronunciation hilarious but I suppose I could help."

Sam let out a full laugh then, "I'd appreciate it. Anyway, I should go find a place for these until I get that shelf up. It's been a long morning." He passed Cas and then lingered in the doorway for a moment, "Hey, if you're going to talk to Dean, go easy, okay? Don't start another fight, he took the last one hard." He waited until Cas nodded in confirmation and then left.

Cas stood there only for a few moments before slipping the little marble turtle into his coat pocket and heading back out for Dean's room. He knocked twice and then waited.

"Come in." Came Dean's resigned voice. Slowly, Cas eased open the door and slipped inside. Dean was sat at his desk, a book open on the table in front of him. It was a thin paperback so although Cas couldn't see the title, he figured this must be one of the rare occasions that Dean read for pleasure. Not that he wasn't well-read, it was just unusual to catch him at it, he generally preferred to watch his fiction.

Dean marked his page and flipped the book closed. He looked as tired as Sam had, and he was paler than he had been just a few hours ago. He drew both his hands into his lap and twisted them together, but Cas noticed that they weren't as steady as they usually were.

"I don't wanna fight, Cas." Dean said, his voice was scratchy and slow.

"Are you alright?" Cas asked immediately, stepping forward. Dean scooted his chair back a couple of inches, a clear _back off_, so Cas stayed where he was, unsure and worried.

"Fine," Dean lied, "just sick of arguing with you."

"I didn't come here to argue," Cas said gently, "I came to apologise; what I did back at the sandbox… I'm sorry. I went too far. I was just… frustrated."

Dean's mouth moved like he was running his tongue over his teeth but his eyes were cold iron. Cas felt almost uncomfortable under that gaze, and more than a little ashamed. So instead of trying to tease a conversation out of Dean that he really didn't seem interested in, he pulled out the keyring and placed it carefully on the edge of the desk.

"Jack and I stopped off at a museum on the way back," he said, "we all got something, I thought you might like this."

Dean didn't so much as glance at the thing, his eyes still hard on Cas' own. Cas found himself looking away first and backing towards the door, "alright, well… I'll just..." He gestured with his thumb and turned to go. Behind him, he heard the scrape of plastic on wood as Dean pulled the keyring towards himself and just as he was about to close the door, he heard a soft,

"Thanks."

xxx

Dean waited until Cas was gone before properly examining the keychain. He expected a goofy cartoon or something, for a celestial being who had lived for millions of years, the guy was easily distracted by bright colours and Dean had caught a flash of orange as Cas had set the thing down. But when he looked at it properly, it was a print of a sunset, and the silhouette of an impala – the animal kind – standing in front of some misty sand dunes. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched without his permission. God, Cas was such a goob sometimes. Staying mad at the guy was near impossible.

"_When's the last time you watched a sunset without waiting for somethin' to go bump in the night?"_

Those words filtered through his brain as he stared at the little rectangle of plastic and, for the third time that day, felt tears prick at his eyes.

_Follow your heart. You do that, all the rest just figures itself out._

He tightened his fist around the keyring and sighed deeply.

"I tried, Mildred," he muttered to himself, "I really tried this time."

But turns out that all that Disney princess, follow your heart crap was just that. Shocker. Because real life, _their_ lives, never caught a fucking break.

Dean fished out his car key and slipped it onto the keychain Cas had given him. It was a sweet gift after all, even if Cas only understood half of its significance.

He needed some time, that was all. Just a little time to sink into the idea, to let himself grieve for the future he'd tried not to let himself want. He would forgive Cas, for both his stunt at the sandbox and the deal itself, hell, he basically already had, and he would bury the rest. Sammy might want him to fess up about his… guy thing, but really, for the past few years at least, it had only been Cas. Sure, he noticed other people, he wasn't blind and Dean had always been one to appreciate the human form, but he found himself now almost exclusively drawn to dark, messy hair and huge blue eyes and he didn't need a shrink to figure out where _those _particular features came from.

He stroked his thumb over the keychain once more before stowing it in his pocket. There was no point being angry at Cas, he knew he'd only regret it if he did end up poofing out and logically, he _knew_ that Cas had done the best he could with the options he'd had. So no, he wasn't gonna be angry. But he also wasn't gonna give up completely. As long as Cas was still around, that gave him time to try and dig something up on the Empty. He knew Sam would help out too, after all, as long as it was only _research_, they weren't risking drawing any unwanted attention. He also resolved to listen to Sam if he said something was too dangerous. Dean might be ready to jump on board with the first thing that looked promising but he also knew that the Empty wasn't something that they could take a swing and a miss at. If they didn't get it right first try, they'd all be screwed.

Plus, Michael was still out there and in Kansas City. Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, trying to push down the fear of facing Michael again. Man, none of them were ready for this; Jack was still powered down, Cas had this deal hanging over him, Dean felt shaky every time he thought about Michael and Sam was just barely managing to keep the rest of them afloat. They were a sorry bunch.

But, needs must. It'd take them at least a couple days to get a solid plan together anyway, Cas had said that Naomi made it seem Michael had been holed up for a while, so he wasn't likely to move, which would give them a chance to rest up and regroup and Dean could monitor Sam to try and figure out the finer points of compartmentalising. God knew it would come in handy and Sam was a freaking master. Not the healthiest method perhaps, but as long as it got him through long enough to kill the son of a bitch then he couldn't care less. They'd already been dragging their feet, mostly because he knew Sam and Cas wanted to keep him as far away from Michael as possible, also because they'd needed to celebrate Jack not being dead any more. If they had learned one thing in their lives, it was to celebrate the wins immediately and without reservation, that way, when it all blew up in your face, at least you had the memories of a great party. In theory anyway. In practice, you just ended up having to save the world with a hangover.

**So... *wrings hands* thoughts?**

**I'm actually super nervous about posting this one, and I'm not sure whether or not to keep it marked as complete. It's been sitting on my laptop untouched for over a month because I didn't know what I wanted to do with it. If I continue it, I'm not sure where it would go, but it feels kinds of unsatisfying as an ending in my opinion. **

**Any and all suggestions and feedback would be welcome. I had such high hopes for this fic when I started it and although I really like a lot of the character scenes, I feel it may be lacking in plot (always my downfall). Nonetheless, I really want it to be the best it can be, so if anyone wants me to, I might give it some thought and try making it a longer piece. **

**Sorry about the essay. Thank you so much for reading!**

**Love Tibbins xx**


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